Familial Obligations
by liebedance
Summary: As heir to the House of Black, there are certain expectations you must live up to – certain attitudes you're supposed to assume. And, when you don't... well, things can get messy.


Written for _Mischief Managed_ at LiveJournal for the prompt "What it means to be the heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black"

* * *

**Prologue**

Sunlight streams through the windows, giving the stone walls an almost-golden glow. Sirius can hear the sounds of students laughing on the grounds, enjoying the last of their precious few days between exams and summer holidays. He knows that James, Remus, and Peter are out there as well, most likely with Lily and Mary MacDonald. They're celebrating their completion of the NEWTs, talking about this and that, and being the carefree teenagers that they are.

As he makes his way through the corridors to join them, it finally sinks in that this is the last time they'll be able to do this, that they'll be able to sit by the Black Lake and just _be_. This is the last time that Sirius will walk through these halls. The two hours he's just spent under McGonagall's watchful eye was the last detention he'll ever serve. Tomorrow, he'll get on the Hogwarts Express for the last time and leave Hogwarts, possibly forever. He'll no longer be sheltered by the professors and the magic of the castle, no longer separated from what happens in the real world. Not that he's been so separated here, Sirius admits to himself, stopping to look out the window and over the ground. It looks so peaceful, but it's just an illusion.

"Sirius?" A voice cuts into the silence, pulling Sirius from his thoughts. He turns and sees a familiar student standing mere meters away.

"Regulus," Sirius replies in acknowledgement. How appropriate it is that Regulus would appear just as Sirius was thinking about illusions and endings, separations and the real world.

"You leave tomorrow," Regulus says, moving ever-so-slightly closer to his older brother.

"So do you," Sirius points out. "There's only the one train."

"But you're actually leaving, heading out into the big world to fight your fight."

He almost – but not quite – misses the pointedness of Regulus' statement. _You're actually leaving._ And, it sounds so much like the _You actually left_ that had been uttered almost two years previously.

"We all have our battles, our choices," Sirius replies.

"Do you even remember?" Regulus asks.

Instinct tells him that Regulus is suggesting that he could ever forget the night he ran away. But, almost immediately he dismisses that notion. However pointed Regulus' previous statement was, Sirius knows he isn't referring to _that_ night, not now. After all these years apart, he can still read his younger brother. At least, somewhat – enough to know what he _isn't_ referring to, but not enough to know what he is.

Sirius wants to ask, _'Do I remember what?'_ but he isn't sure that Regulus even knows which instance he's talking about. There've been so many moments to remember – to_forget_ – that it's impossible to discern which Regulus means. And the sum of the moments, the scenes that have played out over and over again until they became practically rehearsed, well, Regulus could be referring to any of them, as well. Or maybe he meant before. Before Sirius' estrangement, before the fighting and the screaming, before Regulus was sorted into Slytherin and out of Sirius' life. Maybe he meant before, when they were still friends, brothers.

"Yeah," Sirius says slowly, meeting Regulus' stormy eyes with his own. "I remember."

And he does. 

**ooo**

The first thing Sirius ever learned was that The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was one of the oldest pure-blood families in the wizarding world. There were certain behaviours that had been deemed appropriate and others that had been condemned as deplorable. He was expected to behave properly, to uphold the family honour.

The second thing he learned was that he was special. Special because he was the heir, named – as was tradition – for the stars. Sirius Orion. Sirius, for his grandfathers. Orion, for his father. Sirius: the brightest star in the night sky, the Dog Star. Orion: the hunter.

The third thing he learned was that he hated it.

**ooo**

With a frustrated sigh, Sirius set down his quill and looked at the list of French vocabulary he'd been given by his tutor. He was supposed to memorise all fifty weather-related words and phrases by the following day. But, as was often the case, Sirius didn't really _want_ to do the assigned copying. It wasn't that he _disliked_ French; he just hated having to sit in the dark study when he _could_ be outside, flying on his broomstick or playing _Wizards and Muggles_ with Regulus.

Sirius glanced across the table to Regulus - who was busy copying down family lines from _Nature's Nobility: a Wizarding Genealogy_ - and rolled his eyes, contemplating flicking ink at him. Regulus' brow was furrowed in concentration as he guided his quill slowly across the parchment. Typical Regulus, taking so much care to make his letters as neat as possible. Typical Regulus, actually doing the pointless assignments. It was no wonder their tutor preferred the younger boy.

When Sirius had been six-years-old and memorizing family trees, he hadn't shown half the dedication that Regulus had. In fact, he'd hardly shown any dedication at all. When he'd realised what a tedious task it would be, Sirius scribbled out the trees and paths of inheritance as quickly as possible. And when their tutor had informed him that his work was unacceptable and that he had to redo it, Sirius had refused. For an entire week he'd sat staring at the closed book, crossing his arms in front of his chest and shooting scathing looks at the instructor.

At the end of that week, though, the tutor spoke with Walburga about Sirius' stubbornness. After their talk, she'd stormed into Sirius' room while he and Regulus were playing, demanding an explanation for his intolerable deviance.

"It's boring," Sirius had explained, not bothering to look up. "It's stupid and pointless."  
There had been a moment's silence during which Walburga's face contorted with rage and a mad glint entered her eyes.

"Regulus," Walburga had said, turning to her younger son.

"Mother?" the small boy had asked, looking up from his toys

"Your brother seems to think you're boring, stupid, and pointless," she'd spat out.

"I don't!" Sirius had interjected when his brother turned to look at him with wide eyes. "That's not what I said, Reg."

"If you will deem your heritage as such," Walburga had continued, fixing her eyes on Sirius, "then you deem the products of your heritage as such. If you don't care about your forefathers, then you don't care about your brother. Their blood is the same."

"Regulus isn't my forefathers," Sirius had shot back, standing up as he jut out his lower jaw and met his mother's glare. "He's my brother. And, I don't care whose blood he has."

"The House of Black is the house of my fathers. I will not have you insulting it in this manner!" she had raged, causing Sirius to take an involuntary step backwards towards Regulus.

The movement had drawn Walburga's attention back to her younger son. Sirius had seen Regulus' eyes widen even further under his mother's glance, and somehow he knew what was coming. It had been inevitable, really, from the moment that Walburga brought Regulus into the argument. But Sirius hadn't thought of what his mouthing off could mean for Regulus – hadn't wanted to think of that.

Blue light had flashed across the room from Walburga's wand to Regulus, knocking him to the ground.

"Mother!" Sirius had exclaimed as tears began to leak from Regulus' eyes.

"Is Regulus so boring, now?" the witch had demanded.

Sirius hadn't responded. He'd wanted to rush over to Regulus, to make sure he was okay, but he knew such an action would only fuel Walburga's anger. She'd already lashed out at Regulus – Regulus who really had had no part in all of this, but who had been punished for his brother's insolence. One more wrong move on Sirius' part could push Walburga completely over the edge, leading to even more disastrous consequences.  
And so, Sirius had clenched his teeth, remaining where he was and glaring at his mother.

"You will do your schoolwork," she had said before turning and walking towards the door. Before leaving, however, she'd stopped and turned to face the boys once more. "And Regulus, stop crying like a stupid, pointless boy."

"I'm sorry, Reg," Sirius had said, rushing over to his brother as soon as their mother's footsteps had faded. "I'm sorry."

Regulus had just blinked up at him through tear-filled eyes.

Sirius shook his head, willing the memory to fade. He glanced once more at Regulus, who was still scratching away at his parchment. With a resigned sigh, Sirius turned back to his own assignment and picked up his quill. Even Sirius knew the horrible memory was nothing but that – a memory – all temptation to flick ink at his brother was gone.

**ooo**

By the time he was nine, Sirius had learned that very few things were worse than dinner parties. Not only did his parents require him to don his uncomfortable dress robes, but Sirius was also expected to sit quietly while his parents and their guests conversed. It was times like these that Sirius almost resented Regulus for being the younger brother, the brother free from the responsibilities of being the heir. After supper, Regulus was permitted to retreat to his room while Sirius was obliged to follow his parents into the drawing room for the longest evenings of his short life.

Because _nothing_ – so far as Sirius was concerned – was more dull than the conversation held during dinner parties. Half of it didn't make sense – pure-blood politics, foreign affairs, rising powers in the Ministry. As for the other half – mostly gossip about who had been seen with who – well, Sirius considered it to be a waste of time. Even counting rivets on the chandeliers was more interesting. Even though he always lost count between four hundred and five hundred, it had become his favoured way of passing the time.

Sirius wondered how long the guests would stay tonight. True, the Blacks hadn't entertained the Burke family in quite some time, but frequency of visits was not a good determiner of visit length. After all, the Greengrasses were over at least once a month, and those visits lasted hours.

It was a pity, Sirius thought, that not many of his parents' associates had children his age, at least not ones they brought with them to Grimmauld Place. This wasn't something that he usually minded, as he was more than content to play with Regulus most of the time. It didn't matter that he didn't have other friends or _associations_. But, in situations such as these, when the youngest Black was confined to his room, Sirius thought it would've been nice to have _someone_ – even someone he didn't particularly like, like Rosier or Avery – to share this misery with.

"Sirius." The stern voice of his father broke into his wandering thoughts. Sirius looked up to see all four adults looking at him expectantly. He blinked, unused to being addressed during these after-dinner talks.

"Yes?" he asked, raising his eyebrows slightly.

"I just asked," Mrs. Burke said, a slight tone of condescension in her voice, "how you are doing in your studies."

"Fine," Sirius replied. Orion cleared his throat, and Sirius continued, "I'm performing adequately, I believe."

"It's important to perform well. It's one of the many ways we can distinguish ourselves from Mudblood and Muggle filth," Mrs. Burke replied, letting her gaze shift to the room at large rather than to any one person in particular. Abruptly, she turned her eyes back to Sirius. " Est-ce que tu étudies le Français?"

"Oui, Madame Burke," Sirius replied easily. He looked the older witch in the eye, and met her disdainful and haughty expression with defiance. "Je l'étudiais pour plusieurs ans."

"Bien, bien," she said, nodding once at Sirius. "The study of the classic languages is falling out of style, I fear. I was trained in French and Latin. If I were to ever have a child, I would make sure he was educated properly."

"We plan to have Sirius start Latin the summer before his first year at Hogwarts," Orion answered shortly.

"Do not think that the Blacks are in the habit of letting standards fall. Both our sons receive the best we have to offer them, which you must be aware is quite a lot."

"You mistake me," Mrs. Burke said with a smile, but Sirius didn't think that his father had mistaken her at all. This turn of events he was sure would lead to the dinner party being cut short. _Nobody_ insinuated that the Blacks were anything less than pure-blood royalty. They were, after all, one of the oldest houses, and one of the most well-known.

**ooo**

"Come _on_, Reg," Sirius insisted, taking his younger brother's hand in his and pulling. "It will be fun!"

"I don't see why you want to go outside _now_," Regulus argued, straining against Sirius' grip. "It's _raining_, Sirius. Can't we just play chess or Exploding Snap?"

"I'm sick of those. Anyway, the rain is the entire point!" Sirius exclaimed. He stopped pulling and turned to face the eight-year-old. "We'll splash in the puddles and the mud. It will be fun. I promise."

"You've done it before?" Regulus inquired. He frowned slightly, fixing his brother with a sceptical glare.

"Well, no," Sirius started. "But I saw some kids the other day doing it."

"They were probably Muggles or Mudbloods," Regulus pointed out, folding his arms across his chest and giving Sirius a look he'd seen on their father's face countless times.

"But they looked like they were having a great time," Sirius pushed on. He tugged gently on Regulus' hand and smirked. "Besides, it'd make Mother furious if she found out."

"But she won't find out?" Regulus asked, narrowing his eyes.

Sirius knew he'd almost won. It was simple, really, to read Regulus once you knew how. He was the quieter of the two boys, clever at history and languages and much more disposed to play the part of a pedigreed, pure-blood son. But underneath the solemn and cold exterior was a little boy who idolized his older brother, whose rare smiles cracked only for Sirius' jokes, and whose eyes lit with the prospect of unorthodox fun.

That spark of light had just appeared in his grey eyes. And that was what signalled to Sirius that he almost had his brother convinced.

"She and Father are out all day," Sirius explained quickly. "They won't be back for hours. Plenty of time to get washed up and even start a game of chess, if you want."

"Fine," Regulus consented, scowling at Sirius. But, Sirius knew it was just a show, just another part of the never-ending game that was their childhood. It was the younger boy's next words, if nothing else, that confirmed this.

"Just, wait for me to go put on my new shoes, okay, Sirius?"

Sirius nodded and waved a hand to tell Regulus to hurry up. As he scurried off in pursuit of his best shoes, Sirius sighed. At times like these he resented the fact that only a year remained until it was time to go to Hogwarts.

**ooo**

There was never any question that Sirius would join his cousins in the ranks of Hogwarts students adorned in silver and green. Sirius had never even considered the possibility of being sorted outside of Slytherin. Not until he met James Potter, that is.

Meeting James had been a breath of fresh air for Sirius. The short boy with messy black hair was so full of energy, so full of a certain warmth and boyish charm that was exceedingly unfamiliar to Sirius. He laughed easily, and Sirius found the laughter to be contagious. An hour into that first train ride, Sirius was laughing harder than he'd laughed in his entire life.

Yes, Potter was slated to be in Gryffindor as sure as Sirius was to be in Slytherin. Yes, Sirius was sure that James had heard the surname 'Black' and had heard all the rumours surrounding the name and its association with the Dark Arts. But he didn't seem to care, and so Sirius let himself enjoy those few hours with James, pushing aside the growing feeling of discontent.

Sirius thought it odd that he felt so disappointed at the prospect of not getting to know the boy better. He would make other friends, he was certain. He knew people already in Slytherin, and surely Rosier and Avery would be sorted there, as well. Besides, he was important, he was a _Black_. He'd have no problem forging the types of associations his parents would approve of. The afternoon spent with James Potter would become nothing more than a memory, a day to be fondly remembered but not dwelt on. And, as long as he didn't have to become best mates with that Snape bloke, well, he'd live.

So, when Sirius sat on the stool and placed the Sorting Hat on his head, it was without any sort of deliberation. But then the hat, well, it _spoke_ to him, whispered straight into his mind: _Sirius Black, where to put you? In Slytherin, perhaps, like your fathers... Ah, but you're different. _

_I'm different?_ Sirius wondered before he could stop himself. He'd sworn he wouldn't converse with the hat, but he'd always spoken without thinking, and as the Hat could allegedly hear his  
_thoughts_...

_I can sense it_ the Hat cut into his musings. _Different and destined for something else, something fitting of..._

"GRYFFINDOR!"

**ooo**

It didn't come the first day of classes, or the day after that – something that troubled Sirius greatly. He'd expected to hear from his mother and father immediately after the Sorting. But nothing came – no letters, no Howlers, no livid Walburga storming the Great Hall, nothing.

Sirius wondered why there hadn't been any word from home. He was sure his mother and father had heard of his Sorting. What with all their connections – not to mention Narcissa's placement as a Slytherin prefect – there was no way they _couldn't_ know. The only thing he could think of was that his mother was playing one of her mind games – making him wait. But, even that seemed a bit too subtle and not quite mad enough for the quick-to-anger Walburga. Even if his father had, as he often did, mollified his wife, not even Orion Black could keep Walburga tame for more than a couple days. He just hoped they weren't taking it out on Regulus.

"Maybe they're trying to ignore it," Pettigrew said one morning at breakfast. Sirius shrugged, not really wanting to discuss the matter with the short, slightly pudgy boy who'd taken to following Sirius and James around.

"Makes sense," Pettigrew continued. "Like, if they pretend it didn't happen, it will go away."

"The Blacks aren't the type to ignore such horrid misdeeds," Sirius argued.

"I don't know," James replied. "I can't imagine what my mum and dad would do if I were sorted into Slytherin.

"You'd probably come home to a green-and-silver room," Pettigrew pointed out.

Sirius nodded in agreement. In all his life, he'd never met anyone more adored and pampered by his parents than James Potter. He'd already received two care packages, and the stories he told of his parents were enough to make Sirius jealous. It continually surprised Sirius how _warm_ James made his parents out to be, nothing like any of the pure-bloods he'd ever met, and certainly nothing like _his_ parents.

"Well," the boy in question said, looking up at the owls that were now arriving with post. "I think there's an owl headed towards you. Maybe this is their response."

True enough, a large, black owl was making its way towards the Gryffindor table, right to Sirius, with a letter in its beak. Without landing, the owl dropped the letter onto Sirius' now-empty plate and flew out of the Great Hall.

"Not a Howler?" James asked, peering curiously at the stark white envelope in Sirius' hands.

"I guess not," Sirius answered, gazing at the seal speculatively.

"Is it cursed?" Pettigrew asked.

"I doubt it," Sirius murmured, more to himself than to the others. "They wouldn't want to damage their heir, even if they've got Reg as a backup."

"You going to open it?" was James next question. He was gazing at the letter eagerly, something which Sirius almost found amusing, albeit a bit disconcerting.

"I think I'll wait until I'm not in such a public place," Sirius answered, tucking the letter into his robes. "That way, if it _is_ cursed, I won't end up with boils in front of the entire school."

"Wise choice," James said sagely, and returned to his bacon. Sirius shook his head and helped himself to more bacon as well.

As it turned out, Sirius didn't end up reading the letter until he was in the quasi-privacy of his dormitory that night. Pettigrew was playing Wizarding Chess with Mary McDonald in the common room, and their other roommates – Remus Lupin and Trevor Goldstein – were nowhere to be found. Only James remained, laying on his bed with_Quidditch Through the Ages_, when Sirius pulled the letter out of his pocket and leaned against his pillows to read.

_Sirius Orion Black,_

As you undoubtedly know, your mother and I have been informed of your Sorting. I should be writing this letter as congratulations. Unfortunately, you have not granted me this honour, and I must express my regret and displeasure in your placement in Gryffindor. The only point of redemption that I can find is that you were not sorted into Hufflepuff.

Your mother is distraught. Your forefathers are turning in their graves. As for myself, I doubt you can even begin to understand the disgrace you've brought upon our family. I can only hope that you do not further lower yourself through association with the Mudbloods and other filth of that house.

Your cousin has informed us that you have sought out the company of the young Potter boy. While he comes from decent Wizarding stock, take care in this acquaintance. The Potters are known to mix with those lesser than them, and I would be loath to have you fall under that influence. Do not forget that you are a Black, and what's more, you are heir to this ancient and noble House.

We expect more from you. Do not disappoint us further.

Orion A. Black

"I think I fancy a walk," Sirius said once he'd finished the letter. He tucked the letter back into his pocket and stood up.

"Brilliant," James said, putting down his book and standing up as well. "I'm up for a bit of adventure myself."

"What, you really want to explore?" Sirius asked, turning to face the messy-haired boy.

Just the previous day, James had mentioned his goal of knowing more about the secret passageways and general layout of Hogwarts Castle than any other student. Pettigrew had been instantaneously enamoured with this idea, but Sirius wasn't sure. He didn't think it was quite _possible_ for three eleven-year-olds to know more about the castle than the seventh years who had been attending Hogwarts for years. Besides, aimlessly wandering about a huge magical castle seemed like a good way to get lost.

"I said I did," James answered impatiently. "Besides, you need something to take your mind off that letter."

"What makes you think I need it taken off my mind?" Sirius asked sharply.

"I'm perceptive. Too much so, according to my mum and dad."

"You're also full of it." But Sirius was grinning now. He didn't really care what his father said about the Potters, there was something about the boy that Sirius just plain_liked_. His outgoing and enthusiastic nature was contagious, and, just as had happened on the Hogwarts Express, Sirius found himself wanting to be friends with him.

"Yeah, well," James said, bouncing on his feet and looking eagerly at Sirius. "I bet we can find at least one hidden door before dinner."

"You know what, Potter? I bet we can."

**ooo**

Sirius wasn't a bad student by any means. He was clever and quick to pick things up. And, he was pleased to learn, James was, too.

By the end of the second week of classes, the two boys had turned their studies into something of a friendly competition. The goals were twofold: outperform the other in classes and put forth less effort than the other. It was a game that left their dorm-mates simultaneously annoyed and in awe. But what Sirius – and James – enjoyed best about the game was that it left them plenty of time to goof off and cause general mayhem.

**ooo**

Halfway through October found Sirius lounging in his four-poster bed in Gryffindor Tower. Classes were through for the week, and James had been eager to read the new edition of _Quidditch Weekly_ that had arrive that morning. Sirius, not wanting to sit alone in the common room, had joined his new friend in their dormitory.

As he leaned against his pillows, Sirius contemplated writing a letter to Regulus. He hadn't heard from his brother much, only a couple letters since the Howler his mum had sent him following his father's letter. And, he wanted to make sure that Reg was okay, that their mother wasn't taking out her frustration with her elder son on the younger. In the few letters Regulus had sent, he'd insisted that he _was_ okay, that everything was fine. But Reg had always been the kind to take things silently, so much more than Sirius.

"Your name is slightly ironic," a voice came, cutting across the silence and interrupting Sirius' thoughts. Sirius looked up to see the Lupin boy sitting on his own bed, studying him.

"Is it?" Sirius asked. The other boy nodded, and Sirius frowned. He'd never thought of it as ironic before.

"It's a family name," Sirius explained, feeling slightly defensive. He'd gotten enough shite about his name over the years, and really, this boy was in no place to judge names - _his_ name was Remus.

"My grandfather was Sirius," Sirius continued, fixing Lupin with a hard stare. "As was his grandfather. It's a common name for the expected heir of the House of Black. If you have a problem with it, take it up with my forefathers."

"No problem," Lupin replied quietly. "Just pointing out that it's ironic... You do know what it means, don't you?"

"Of course I know what it means," Sirius answered, just barely able to control the irritation in his voice. He'd known ever since Andromeda had explained it to him all those years ago. "It's the Dog Star, the brightest star in the sky."

"Then you should get why it's ironic," Lupin said with a sly half-smile, "that your surname is _Black_."

"You know," James added, looking up from his magazine for the first time since the conversation started, "he does kind of have a point."

"My name's not ironic," Sirius mumbled, shooting an angry glance at James.

"It is," James countered. He turned his head to face the third boy. "You're Remus, right?" The boy nodded, and James continued. "You're clever."

"I like astronomy," Lupin said with a shrug. He shot a glance at Sirius, his half-smile transforming into a grin. "And I like irony."

**ooo**

By Christmas holidays, James and Sirius had befriended Remus, as well as Peter. They both proved to be invaluable in his and James' desire to explore the school and make mischief. Peter had an uncanny directional memory and thus had saved them several times from Filch. As for Remus, Sirius soon discovered that his studious and quiet front was just that: a facade. He was very clever and quite creative, and when it came to pranking, he had a knack for subtlety that neither Sirius nor James possessed.

Though James had also tried to bring Trevor into the small group, he'd forged his own friendships with other Gryffindor first years. Sirius found that he didn't really mind this. He always got the distinct impression that Trevor Goldstein didn't like or trust him very much. James had pointed out that it was most likely the Black surname that chased him away, something that had caused Sirius to scowl.

"People don't have to dislike me because of my _name_," Sirius complained one morning in early December. Trevor had just left the room, glancing a furtive look at Sirius as he shut the door.

"You expect people to _like_ you because of it," Remus pointed out.

Sirius rolled his eyes, knowing where Remus was going with this. Remus was constantly yammering on about prejudices and pure-blood propaganda and all sorts of things that Sirius had never even _thought_ about but was sure his parents would _not_ approve of. And, what was more, James and Peter always argued that side, too. James the same way he did everything, with enthusiasm and bravado, Peter with half-smiles and meek nods. And, as he spent more time with the three of them, Sirius had started to realise that the rubbish that they spouted was no more rubbish than what he'd been taught to spout. And now he realised he didn't know _which_ rubbish was _actually_rubbish, and which was truth.

"I mean, look at Evans," Remus was saying. "She's Muggle-born, and she's at the top of the class."

"I'm beating her in Transfiguration," James cut in.

"I am, too," Sirius said. "And I've heard you say this millions of times, Remus. I'm not superior, Mudbl-_Muggle-borns_ aren't inferior, and next you're going to say that I need to re-evaluate my beliefs and priorities."

"No. Well, yes, I probably was." Remus conceded.

"Well, I don't get what all this has to do with Goldstein disliking me because of my name," Sirius retorted, changing the topic back to one that _wouldn't_ make his head spin in confusion.

"Well," Remus started, a grin forming on his face, "He doesn't dislike you because you're a Black; he probably doesn't like you _right now_ because you put itching powder in his shoes the other day."

"Oh," Sirius replied, furrowing his eyebrows and trying to remember how exactly that had happened. "I suppose I did, didn't I?"

"And it was absolutely hilarious all day," James said, a fond, reminiscent smile on his face."Itching powder, so classic, yet so brilliant."

"You two both need to re-evaluate your sanity," Remus muttered as he shot Peter a knowing glance.

"You love us," James declared. "Without us, your life would be as mundane as that book you're reading."  
Remus rolled his eyes before turning back to his book. James grabbed _Quidditch Through the Ages_ and began perusing it for what must've been the fifth time that year, and Peter pulled out his chess board. Sirius looked around at the three boys he'd come to call his friends and thought about how Peter's mum was half-blood and Remus' dad was a Muggle-born. He thought about how Evans was beating most of their year in Potions _and_ in Charms while Avery _never_ answered a question correctly in class.

He knew his mother was mad, knew both she and his father wore their surname like crowns. He knew that they wanted him to be the perfect prince of the Black family, or at least to pretend to be. He'd been trying for years, trying, and sometimes failing. He thought of Regulus, his little brother who was so much more the heir than Sirius ever was, of how he looked up to him.

Sirius had always been a Black. He'd never fit the mold quite right, and his Sorting and his choice in friends had only added to the list of things that made him different. But he'd always be a Black. That wouldn't change.

But didn't something have to?

**ooo**

There was never any question or doubt that Regulus would be sorted into Slytherin. But, then again, there hadn't been any doubt about Sirius, either. But there also hadn't been the _pressure_ for Sirius to be in Slytherin, not in the way there was for Regulus.

All summer, Sirius had endured his parents blatant fawning over the younger boy, telling him how _proud_ they were of him, introducing him at dinner parties, and repeating that they knew he'd do _so well_ in Slytherin. Sirius had been able to tell that Regulus, as much as he enjoyed the attention, was slightly uncomfortable with it. After all, all eleven years of his life, it had been _Sirius_ in the spotlight, _Sirius_ who had been introduced as the prize son of the Blacks.  
But all that had changed when Sirius allowed himself to be sorted into Gryffindor, had allowed himself to associate with those of lesser breeding, like _that Lupin kid_ who was too skinny, and probably half Muggle. Sirius had been demoted from esteemed heir when his mother had overheard him telling Regulus that _Muggle-borns_ weren't really any different from pure-bloods, that they ought not to be called Mudbloods.

And, when Sirius had begun to fade, Regulus had been expected to shine.

As Sirius sat beside James in the Great Hall, watching the first years file in for the Sorting Ceremony, he gritted his teeth in apprehension and felt his stomach flop with nervousness. Had he – Sirius – done enough in the past several months to save Regulus from the fate of their older cousins? Had the introduction to James on the Hogwarts Express tilted the scales for Regulus as it had for Sirius?

Too soon, McGonagall was calling "Black, Regulus." And, with the mask of indifferent superiority and air of nobility installed in him through generations of customs and inbreeding, the younger Black approached the stool. He glanced nowhere – not at the Gryffindor table, not at his cousin seated with the Slytherins – but at the old professor at the front of the hall.

Seconds passed slowly, and nearly a minute of heavy silence weighed on the hall. Sirius' eyes were fixed on his brother, hoping beyond hope that he wouldn't be sentenced to the same life their family had had.

But, he knew, somehow, the moment before the Sorting Hat made the announcement, what would happen.

Regulus – who had always worried more about making Walburga mad, who had always studied so hard for their tutor, who had sat through dinner parties like he was born to – would, as always, do as he was expected.

And, so, when the Sorting Hat called out "Slytherin" and Regulus made his way proudly to the table across the Hall, Sirius wasn't surprised. He met James' "Sorry, mate" with a shrug and tried to push away his disappointment.

**Epilogue**

"Do you even remember?" Regulus asks, piercing Sirius' stormy eyes with his own.

"Yeah," Sirius says slowly. "I remember."

"Maybe you do," Regulus admits, and Sirius thinks he looks more like Orion Black than ever, more hardened and more unlike the small boy he once was. There's no spark of light in his eyes, nothing but resolve and something else that Sirius can't quite place. "Maybe you remember, but do you care?"

"What kind of sodding question is that?" Sirius demands.

"An honest one. Maybe you do care, but maybe just not about the right things."

"Maybe we just don't agree on what 'the right things' are," Sirius shoots back. He can feel the temper rising within him, and he wonders what Regulus is trying to accomplish with this interrogation.

"I suppose we don't," Regulus agrees."But I thought I might try one last time, before you leave for good to go off with Potter and do whatever it is the two of you have planned. Father would welcome you back into the house, you know, if you were to return to apologise."

"I have nothing to apologise for," Sirius says coldly. "Not to _them_ anyway. Mother blasted me off the Tapestry, anyway."

"Mother is insane," Regulus mutters softly, and Sirius blinks at him.

"She always has been."

Sirius sees Regulus' lips quirk into the briefest of smiles, and they share an almost-moment of mutual understanding. But, then, almost as quick as it appeared, it disappears, and they are practically strangers again.

"Yes, well. You leaving didn't help. The loss of the heir pushed her over the edge," Regulus says.

"She was over the edge before I left, Reg. You were just too jaded to see it."

"You were supposed to be the heir, the prized son of the House of Black," Regulus says, and Sirius can detect the bitterness in his voice. With sudden comprehension, he knows what that strange look in Regulus' eyes is. And, for the first time, Sirius realises that, maybe, his brother isn't resentful of the fact that Sirius _was_ the rightful heir, but that he didn't live up to the expectation. Regulus, always the soft-spoken, well-tempered son, was forced to rise to the occasion, to take over what Sirius dropped. But, unlike Sirius, Regulus couldn't bring himself to leave.

"I never wanted to be the heir," Sirius says.

"I know," replies Regulus. "Ever since you met Potter and were sorted into Gryffindor. Ever since-"

"No," Sirius cuts him off. "I _never_ wanted to be the heir! Not when we were kids, not ever. I didn't _ask_ for it."

"Neither did I."

Sirius stares at his younger brother – so similar to himself, yet so different – and wants to apologise. He's sorry for leaving Grimmauld Place and even more sorry for leaving Regulus behind. He's sorry for the stony silence after Regulus' placement in Slytherin. He's sorry for all the times that Regulus was punished for Sirius' misbehaviour. And, most of all, he's sorry for not being a better older brother.

But before Sirius can open his mouth, before he can even form the words in his head, Regulus takes a step back. With a hard swallow and a nod, he begins walking down the corridor, away from Sirius.

An odd silence seems to fall across the grounds – or maybe it's just that Sirius doesn't care enough about the inane babble drifting up from the lawn outside. The light shining in through the windows becomes hard and bright and so unlike the golden glow of before. And, as Regulus turns the corner and disappears from sight, Sirius is overwhelmed by a crushing sense of finality.

* * *

Thoughts? Praises? Constructive Criticism?


End file.
